The Art Of Leaving
by SecretaryOfHell
Summary: "And with that flippant comment, she took a deep breath and swaggered out of her husband's life."


"Its late."

Philip Anderson almost jumped a foot in the air. After a short moment, he froze, his tired mind finally processing from whom that statement came from. He exhaled through his nose and rounded the corner, pushing the kitchen door open gently. The lights were already on and Clara sat at the island, a steaming mug of mint chocolate in front of her. A battered copy of Dorian Grey lay unopened in arms distance.

Philip wanted to smile fondly, as some things simply never change, Clara had always despised coffee, it was unhealthy, she had stated firmly, and if you could not wake yourself up naturally, then there is no hope for you when you are in need and have no access to it. It was as simple as that, she had shrugged.

She had quite a passion for law, which led her to becoming a lawyer - on of the best in England, in fact. But in her spare time, she was very artistic. Painting, drawing, sculpting - anything really.

Clara didn't even look up as he entered, she just stared blankly into her cup.

Clara sat straight in her seat, as per usual. She had come from a strict, old school family and manners and etiquette were drilled into her head since she could walk. Her old skin tight shirt and faded bootcut jeans were splattered in blobs of paint. Her ginger hair was held back out of her face by one of those large clasp things. He could never remember what it was actually called. Women's hair accessories, they were all the same to him.

"Its late." She repeated and Anderson realised that he had frozen in the doorway. He shook himself from his stupor and slipped into the seat across from her, after he filled a glass of water for himself.

"How was work?"

Philip sipped from his glass. "Same old, Sherlock being a bastard, nothing else to report really." He tried to joke but she rolled her eyes and frowned.

"You're being petty, honestly Philip, why don't you just do your own work and stop going on about Mr Holmes when he does his." It wasn't a question, it was what she wanted him to do. He frowned, Sally wouldn't have reacted like that. For some reason, Clara had an unwavering respect for the Freak.

She saw his frown "Hey, aren't we friends anymore?" It was an odd question but Anderson reached across and held her hand. He smiled. " Of course. "

"Just friends, apparently." She was looking at the hand holding hers and rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. He realised, too late, it was his left hand. She moved her thumb to his bare ring finger.

"I had to take it off at work." He didn't know why he felt the need to explain himself. It was a lie, but he felt he had to have an excuse.

"You left the station two hours ago."

His breath caught in his throat.  
"I went to a bar to watch the game, with some friends."

"Greg called- said you wouldn't answer your phone, and he needed you on a case - but not to worry, Sherlock helped instead." He winced, she had added that little tidbit in for spite, he was positive. She knew him too well, she knows that he would never ignore a call from work for a game, of all things. He was a bit of a workaholic.

"So, how long?"

"How long was the game? Like every other game. Ninety minutes. An hour and a half." He tried to smile jokingly, but she stared at him icily.

"How long, Philip." She whispered. It wasn't a question anymore. She probably knew the answer already, she just wanted to hear it from him.

"Almost three years." There it was, the horrible truth. He had been cheating on his wife for three years.

"You have a five year old son, who looks up to you. So, what you're telling me is, that all those times I left on business, you would put our son to bed," Clara paused. " Then bring a woman into my house." She suddenly looked tired, exhausted actually. He hadn't noticed before, but she was paler than usual and she had large bags under her eyes. Philip realised with worry, she looked sick.

She rubbed the back of her neck and set her mug down on the island. She slipped off her stool and disappeared into the hallway. The creaking of the stairs was the only thing that cut through the silence, and then it stopped.

Anderson should be ashamed. He had cheated on his wife, for God's sake! But he just couldn't feel it. He still loved Clara, but there was just something about Sally that made him feel... _alive_.

He cleared those thoughts away as Clara reappeared in the hallway. He got up from his stool to see what she was at. His breath stuck in his throat painfully. Clara crouched on the floor, buttoning up Jared's coat as the child rubbed his eyes and yawned sleepily. Clara glanced at him, then whispered into the childs ear. He nodded enthusiastically and grabbed the car keys from the table and darted out the door. Anderson faintly heard the car door open and shut.

Anderson grabbed Clara's arm and he felt her stiffen. "What are you doing?!" He hissed. Clara looked at him icily. "Let go of me."

" What the hell are you doing?!"

"What does it look like? I'm leaving."

His hold loosened and she jerked her arm from him and shoved him away from her with a ferocity he had never seen in her before.

"B-bu-but why-"

"Why? Why? Because for the last three years, you have been taking that Donovan woman - yes I know who she is - into my home, and _fucking_ her just down the hall from my son." She sighed. Philip was genuinely frightened, in just a split second it was as if her entire personality had completely changed. "I should have listened to my brother when he pointed out the flaws in your alibis."

Ah her brother. He had never met the man, but from what he had heard from Clara, he was intelligent, top of his classes all the way through his life. He was some sort of businessman. Clara never really talked about her family. He had only ever met her mother and that was a disaster. The fact that this man he never met - James, his brain supplied the name he picked up from the few times Clara talked about him - could tell he was cheating, now that was worrying. He cursed himself for never taking the time to actually meet her family.

Clara pushed passed him but stopped at the front door, gripping the frame tightly. "You probably should have cleaned up more, I could practically smell her perfume" she glanced back at him over her shoulder "and I don't even own any red lingerie."

And with that flippant comment, Clarissa Moriarty took a deep breath and swaggered out of her husband's life, taking their child with her.

 **Hi, I haven't updated anything in ages, as my writing style had changed collossally, but I found this floating around on my computer and decided _eh, why not?_ It was written to practice writing but I hope you enjoy this all the same **

**~ _AMAM_**


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